Beauty and the Running Back (4 page)

Jessa

“You want to do
what
?” Blaire says, her mane of red
hair flying every which way as her face snaps up in surprise.

“We don’t have to stay for the whole game,” I tell her,
sitting cross legged on my bed, “Just for the first half or so. Come on, it’s
the home opener!”

“Why do you want to spend
any
time at the football
game?” Blaire demands. It’s Thursday afternoon before the first game of the
season, and we’re hanging out at my place while we knock out some homework for
the following week.

“My dad
is
the head coach,” I remind her, “I should
go and be supportive.”

“Oh, please. You can’t stand your dad,” she shoots back,
“You’re not fooling me for a second, telling me that’s the reason you want to
go to that macho slug fest.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, glancing away guiltily.

“Jessa,” Blaire sighs, “I know that we haven’t known each
other for that long, but I consider you a friend by now. And as your friend, I
feel obligated to tell you that you are fucking terrible liar.”

I laugh, surprised by her blunt words. “Am I really that
obvious?”

“And then some,” she says, “I knew from the second Crash
showed up at our garden wall that you two were smitten.”

“Do you think anyone else knows?” I ask anxiously, “I’d
really it rather not get out to the rest of the school.”

“No, no,” Blaire assures me, “You guys are playing it cool.
Just not quite cool enough to trick me, is all. So? What’s the situation with
you two?”

“I’m not really sure,” I tell her, relieved to finally have
someone I can talk to about this. “We’ve been seeing each other a lot. Just
talking, hooking up a little, nothing serious.”

“Do you want it to be serious?” she asks.

“I don’t really see how it can be,” I reply, “We can’t ever
make this a public thing. My dad would lose his mind.”

“Why does it matter what your dad thinks?” Blaire asks.

“Because he’s the one who decides whether I get to stay in
this house or not,” I remind her, “And he could also make Dean’s life a living
hell on that team if he wanted to. It doesn’t matter how good of a running back
Dean is, if my dad gets to holding a grudge against him, he’ll be benched
faster than you can say, ‘Keep your hands off my daughter’.”

“Hmm,” Blaire muses, “Well. Are you happy with the way
things are going with Dean?”

“Yeah. We’re having a really good time together. He’s not the
big, dumb jock I would have thought. He’s really funny, and perceptive, and
gorgeous, obviously. It’s just…” I sigh, “Why couldn’t he have been on the Golf
team or something? Why does he have to be one of my dad’s players?”

“Guess the universe just hates you guys,” Blaire says
brightly, giving me a little pat on the knee.

“Gee. Thanks,” I mutter, opening up my Intro to Psychology
textbook. 

“What are friends for?” she replies, “If not doling out
tough love and suffering through football games with you, I mean.”

I look up, smiling eagerly. “You mean you’ll come to the
game?!”

“Just this once,” she says sternly, “Until you make some
friends here who can actually stomach rampant displays of toxic masculinity.”

“You’re a gem,” I tell her.

“I know,” she replies, diving back into her copy of
The
Great Gatsby
.

I can barely keep my mind on my reading as I think ahead to
tonight. It’s not necessarily the game I’m excited about, though obviously I’m
stoked to see Dean play. I’m much more exciting for what might go down after
the game, when we can sneak away and be alone together. I’ve come to look
forward to our stolen moments more than anything else. They’ve been getting me
through the rocky transition to this new school, to living with my parents
again, to feeling uprooted and disoriented. Dean has been providing me with
stability, and companionship, and all manner of sexy make out sessions. My
crush on him is really starting to develop into something… substantial. And I
can’t quite tell if that’s more exciting or scary.

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

“How goes the studying?” I hear my dad ask from the hallway.

I glance up at him, his huge form taking up the better part
of the doorway. My father is a former football player himself. He played
linebacker all the way through college in Texas. But a late-season injury
scuttled his hopes of getting recruited to a professional team after
graduation. He’s had a great career coaching first high school, then college
football. But even though he swears up and down that he’s accepted the
misfortune that kept him from continuing to play, I’ve never really bought it.
Underneath my dad’s “good Christian man” act is a lot of anger. My patient
mother bears the brunt of it, but I’ve gotten plenty of it heaped on me through
the years as well—especially as I started to reject his super conservative
principles. As much as I hate to admit it, part of me is scared of my father. I
worry about what he might be capable of when he’s truly angry.

“It’s going fine,” I tell him, turning my attention back to
my textbook.

“Good. That’s good,” he says, “Listen, I wanted to run
something by you.”

“What is it?” I ask. Dad’s never had an idea that I’ve liked
particularly well.

“One of my football players came to me saying he could use a
little extra help with one of his classes,” Dad goes on, “I was hoping you’d
agree to tutor him.”

I swallow down a groan at this suggestion. “Dad, I don’t
really have time to—”

“Just think about it, Jessa,” he cuts me off, “Dean Carter
is an excellent running back. I can’t afford to lose him just ‘cause he can’t
sit down and finish
Moby Dick.
”

My jaw practically falls into my lap as I hear Dean’s name
come out of my dad’s mouth. That sly devil! I know that running backs have to
be strategic thinkers, but damn. Getting my own dad to not only condone but
flat out arrange us spending time together? That’s one of the best plays I’ve
ever heard of.

“It wouldn’t even be that much extra work,” Dad goes on, “He
just needs help with a class you’re already taking anyway.”

Blaire turns her big blue eyes my way. She’s been watching
this exchange with rapt attention. I feel like I should hand her a tub of
popcorn, seeing how entertained she is.

“OK,” I sigh, “I
guess
I could help him out.”

“Hey! That’s my girl,” Dad says, clapping his hands
together, “I knew you’d help your old man out.”

“Anything for you and the team,” I reply, giving him my best
saintly smile.

Dad turns on his heel and heads downstairs, leaving me and
Blaire alone once more.

“Oh wow,” she says, “You were right about Crash not being a
dumb jock. This is downright brilliant.”

“Does that mean I have your blessing to keep seeing him?” I
ask her jokingly, “Even if he is a football player.”

“Ugh. I guess so,” she replies, “For now, at least.”

“I’ll take it,” I tell her happily, flopping giddily onto my
bed.

Dean’s tutoring scheme has given us the perfect cover to
spend as much time together as we want without my dad or anyone else getting
suspicious. It’s the perfect plan. Maybe he should be the one tutoring me, huh?
A ripple of excitement spreads through my body as I imagine all the things that
Dean will be able to teach me down the line.

Let’s just say that I am one eager student.

Dean

Thirty thousand fans are on their feet, stomping and
shouting as the fourth quarter runs down. We’ve been in a dead lock with the
visiting team for nearly the entire game. Each side scored two touchdowns in
quick succession early in the game, and we’ve been trying like hell to break
the tie ever since. I can feel my teammates’ frustration roiling away as we
huddle up before our next play. Royce has been doing his best to keep an even
keel, but his confidence is starting to waver. This should have been an easy
game for us to win, but with all the new plays and adjustments to our strategy,
we’ve been thrown off a little. Cahill knows it, too. He’s standing on the
sidelines, his face turning a darker shade of red every time I glance his way.

“Come on, boys. We’ve got plenty of time to break through
this,” I yell above the roar of the crowd, looking around at the exhausted,
frustrated faces of my teammates.

“Crash is right,” Royce says, “We can still pull ahead.
Don’t get lazy on me now.”

He runs us through the next play, and I can feel my blood
pick up the pace in my veins. Royce is gonna switch it up and hand the ball off
to me this time around. Finally. Coach has been leaning on Royce this entire
game instead of letting me do my thing. Now’s my time to remind him—and
everyone else—just how much of an asset I am to this team. I may not be
Cahill’s golden boy, but I’m the best damn college running back on the east
coast. And it’s time the world remembered that.

Another rolling wave of sound crashes down from the stands
as we break out of our huddle and line up to face the other team’s defensive
line. My focus narrows, blocking out the crowd, and the lights, and the
expectations. Right now, the only thing that matters is this next play. We’ve made
a few good pushes forward toward the end zone. It’s up to me now to bring it on
home.

My senses go into high gear as the ball is snapped back to
Royce. My heart is beating so hard in my ears that I can barely hear the sounds
of bodies slamming into each other all around me. I cut across the field behind
Royce and scoop the ball into my hands just before he’s tackled to the ground.
Now it’s just me, the ball, and the twenty yards stretching out before me. I
take off like a shot, feinting left to throw off the guy dispatched to tackle
me. By now, the other team has our number. I can feel a half dozen bodies pivot
my way, ready to stop me by any means necessary. But they’re too late.

My legs pump beneath me as I fly down the field, the
defensive line hot on my tracks. I can see one of their guys coming at me from
the right, and I spin out of his grasp just as he goes to take me down. He gets
a hand on me, but I can’t be stopped now. In front of the adoring crowd, I sail
into the end zone and secure another touchdown to the Rayburn Red Birds in the
final minutes of the fourth quarter.

The second those points are up on the board, the rest of the
world snaps back into focus. I punch the air victoriously as my teammates
charge over to celebrate my touch down. The players and coaches on the
sidelines are losing their shit. Even Coach Cahill allows himself a heartfelt
smile. But even though there at thirty thousand people showering me with
adoration, there’s only one person in that number who’s affection I really care
about. And she’s sitting right up front, in the seats reserved for friends and
family of the team.

Jessa Cahill stands at the railing, her hands cupped to her
mouth as she lets out a cheer. Our eyes lock across the chaotic scene, and I
feel my thumping heart swell in my chest. Knowing that she’s there, looking on
as I do what I do best, makes me unbelievably proud. Not just of my skills on
the field, but of knowing that someone like her supports me. I’ll take her
cheering me on over a stadium full of fans any day.

A few minutes later, the clock runs out on our first game of
the season. We’ve delivered a win to the school, the town, and all of our fans
across the country—and the world. Not only that, but I got to kick some serious
ass and cement my place as the cornerstone of this team once again. But even
with all that, I know the best part of the night is still to come.

That is, the part I get to spend with Jessa.

Jessa

Damn. I thought the Greek Row party that went down before
classes started was wild, but that was a tea party compared to our campus
tonight. I’m pretty sure every single Rayburn student—not to mention their
friends from other schools, some locals, and god knows who else—is out to have
a good time tonight. The campus is entirely overrun in the wake of our first
win—or should I say
Crash’s
first win? If anyone is responsible for
bringing us to victory tonight, it’s him. And the entire school knows it.

As Blaire and I make our way across campus with a few of our
other friends in tow, I’m amazed to hear Dean’s name on so many people’s lips,
to see them wearing his number. One passing sorority girl has both his name
and
number painted across her cleavage for god’s sake. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not
jealous. I’m just astounded that this person who everyone knows and loves wants
to spend so much time with me. But you know what? I’m not gonna look that
particular gift horse in the mouth for another second. I’m too busy keeping my
eyes peeled for the man of the hour anyway.

“Where do you think we can score some MDMA around here?”
asks Blake. He’s one of Blaire’s friends—a lithe, beautiful guy enrolled in the
dance program here.

“I think you’re much more likely to find some bud light and
a spliff,” laughs Kelsey, an African-American visual artist who also runs in
Blaire’s circle.

All three of my new artsy friends are sophomores. Even
though I’m technically still a freshman, I prefer hanging out with people my
own age. A year might not seem like a lot, but the difference between eighteen
and nineteen is still pretty distinct. I’d rather spend time with people who
are interested in more than the latest gossip going around the dorms. Being a
writer myself, I’ve always been drawn to people who make art, whatever the
medium. Even the boys I’ve been into in the past have had something of an
artistic flair. Andoni was a musician, his speciality being classical guitar.
Dean is definitely the outlier on this front. Though honestly, the way he
navigated that field, launching his body across the space and pivoting on a
dime to avoid being tackled…I have to admit, there’s an art to it.

Christ, listen to me. Comparing football to art? Hormones
really
do
scramble the brain.

My breath catches in my throat as I finally catch sight of
Dean, holding forth on the front steps of a stately old dorm building. He’s
surrounded by teammates and admirers, including plenty of cheerleaders and
their gorgeous associates. But the second Dean spots me approaching, his face
lights up in an entirely different way. It knocks the wind out of me, having
someone like him look at me with that much… I don’t know what. Admiration?
Interest? Good old fashioned lust? Whatever it is, I am happy to be on the
receiving end, that’s for sure.

“I’m going to go say hi to a friend,” I tell the trio I
arrivekd with, “Catch you guys later!”

“Be safe,” Blaire mutters in my ear. I glance down just in
time to see her slipping a condom into my back pocket.

“What a pal,” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Hey, a girl’s gotta protect herself,” she says, “Now go get
some of the running back D you’ve been jonesing so hard for.”

I make my way around the dorm building, watching as Dean
extricates himself from the pack of well-wishers. Turning the corner, I wait
for him in the shadows of the dorm, my breath coming hard and fast as I feel
him approach. In this dark little corner, we’ll be hidden in plain sight. Good
thing, too. Because the second Dean appears beside me, backlit and staggeringly
built, a million very private fantasies rush through my mind.

I leap into Dean’s arms, throwing my arms around his broad
shoulders. He catches me easily, laughing as he spins me around in the shadowy
space where we’ve agreed to meet. I look down into his rich brown eyes, soaking
in the closeness of him. I’ve come to truly crave his company, and damn is it
sweet to finally satisfy that craving after a long week apart. He’s been so
busy with practice that I’ve barely had the chance to see him. Guess we’ll just
have to make up for lost time tonight.

“Congratulations Crash,” I grin, running my hands down his
firm chest as he lowers me back down to my feet.

“Thanks Cahill,” he murmurs, letting his own hands travel
down my back, lingering on my hips as he pulls me closer to his body.

“How do you want to celebrate your victory?” I ask, my voice
breathy with desire. His full lips are so close to my own. I swear, I can
already taste him.

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” he says, letting his hands slide
over the rise of my ass, “But first, we need to put some more distance between
us and the masses.”

“Agreed,” I say, as Dean laces his fingers through mine.

We take off through the campus, hand-in-hand. Dodging
clusters of adoring admirers, sticking to the shadows and blindspots, pausing
here and there to steal a kiss, I feel like the ingenue in some classic love
story. Juliet stealing off from the masquerade with Romeo… though god willing
not to the same fate as those two. Dean and I may be a fairly star-crossed
pair, but I highly doubt that we’re on the road to high tragedy, here.

The sounds of the wild party going down on campus fade to a
low rumble as Dean and I make it to the furthest reach of the campus. In the
distance, I spot the auxiliary football field where the team held its
pre-season practices. I’ve missed stealing glances at Dean out of the corner of
my eye since practices moved to the actual football stadium across campus. Now
when I tend the garden with Blaire, there’s no chance of crossing paths with my
favorite running back. That’s probably a blessing in disguise, though. I’m not
sure how we’d hide our sparking chemistry in that close proximity these days.
The energy that crackles between me and Dean is so intense, it feels like a
perpetual signal flare, always threatening to give us away.

“What’re we doing here?” I ask Dean, as we stop beside the
entrance to the football field. The campus garden is just a stone’s throw away.

“Don’t you know what today is?” he asks, turning to face me
in the moonlight.

“Game day?” I ask, as he sets his hands on my waist.

“Well yeah,” he laughs, “But it’s also been exactly a month
since Bryan threw that terrible pass and sent me barreling over to meet you,
right over there.”

My mouth falls open in surprise. “Oh my god. You’re right! I
can’t believe you remembered that.”

“Of course I remembered,” Dean murmurs, spinning me around.
His muscled arms wrap around my waist as my back presses against the hard panes
of his chest. “How could I ever forget seeing you for the first time?”

“I guess I should be thanking Bryan Wallace for his lousy
throw,” I laugh, letting my ass grind ever-so-slightly against Dean. I reach my
arms back over my head, hooking my fingers behind his neck as he lets his hands
run down the length of my torso. I can feel him growing rigid against me, the
strength of his desire making itself known as it hardens into need.

“You feel what you do to me, Cahill?” Dean growls, pressing
his hips forward to let me feel the hard length of his cock against my ass.

“I sure do,” I breathe, letting my head fall back against
his shoulder. “But it hardly seems fair that you don’t get to feel what you do
to
me
…”

“You know I want to,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against
my blonde hair as his hands slide down over my hips. I’m wearing a short a-line
skirt, bright yellow and slightly flared. And beneath, admittedly for Dean’s
benefit, a pair of black lacy boy shorts that make my ass look incredible. I’m
soaking through those panties with every passing minute, the closer Dean’s
hands come to that spot between my legs.

“You want me to touch you?” Dean asks, his voice rasping in
my ear.

My breath catches in my throat. In the little time we’ve
been able to spend together, we’ve barely made it past chaste making out. But
all this time, I’ve been craving to feel those expert hands of his all over my
body. And in one place in particular.

“I do,” I whisper back to him in the darkness.

“Here?” he asks, guiding his hands over the yellow fabric of
my skirt. They pause, caressing my inner thighs.

“Keep going,” I breathe, my back arching as sweet pressure
blossoms between my legs.

Dean’s hands slip under my skirt as I lean back against him,
letting him accept my trembling body into his powerful arms. He trails two
fingers along the crotch of my panties, stroking the length of my aching slit.
A groan escapes his lips as he feels just how wet I am for him. Even through
the fabric of my underwear, his stroking fingers brush deliciously against my
clit, sending a twang of sensation twisting through my core.

“You like that?” he murmurs, keeping one arm wrapped around
my waist to steady me as he trails his fingers along my wetness once more.

“It’s so good,” I groan, “I’ve wanted to feel you there so
badly…”

Without ever taking his hands off my body, Dean guides me
forward a couple of steps toward the chain link fence that encloses the
practice field. I thread my fingers through the cool metal, holding myself up
as my knees begin to quake. Dean steps up behind me, kissing along my neck as
his hands continue their ardent exploration. I suck in a quick, excited breath
as Dean tugs my soaked panties down over my ass, cupping my mound in his expert
hand.

“God, I love the feel of you,” Dean murmurs, parting my pink
lips with two masterful fingers. With each stroke he delves a little deeper,
learning the contours of my sex.

“That feels amazing,” I sigh, leaning my cheek against the
fence as he touches me.

“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” he growls.

I gasp as his two fingers slide into my pussy, flexing
against the tender flesh inside of me. Dean pulses his fingers as his thumb
finds the hard, throbbing button of my clit. I have to bite my lip to keep from
screaming as he works me over inside and out. His thumb traces firm circles
around the pearl of my clit—not too hard, but not too gentle either. I move my
hips against him, urging him on as he brings me closer and closer to orgasm. It
occurs to me that I’ve never come like this in front of anyone. Andoni and I always
went straight to full-on intercourse—he was way too eager for much foreplay.
But the experienced Dean Carter knows what he’s doing. And what’s he’s doing is
fucking
phenomenal
.

“I think I’m gonna come,” I gasp, fucking his hand as it
fucks me. Warm bliss is building up in my core, waiting to spill over. Dean
rolls his thumb over my clit, his arched fingers sending my g-spot into a
frenzy of sensation.

“Do it. Come for me,” Dean growls, “I want to feel you…”

With a soft cry, I let myself go. My body shudders as a
sweet, searing orgasm rushes along my nerve endings. Electric sensation dances
along my skin, turning me inside out as I come against Dean’s incredible,
commanding hand. My eyes grow wide as I feel a small burst of wetness escape
between my legs. For a petrified moment, I’m worried that I’ve gone and pissed
on Crash Carter. But no, that’s just what it felt like at first… I’ve heard
about squirting before, but I sure as hell never figured I was capable of it.
Good lord, what else is this man going to bring out in me?

“God, that’s hot…” Dean moans, burying his face in my neck
as I turn to face him, leaning back against the chain link. A cool September
breeze brushes against my bare ass as I catch my breath, amazed at what just
passed between us.

“Was that… OK?” I ask nervously, “I mean… That’s never
really happened to me before. I don’t… I haven’t had a lot of experience with,
you know, guys.”

Dean pulls back to look me in the eye.

“Are you saying… You’re a virgin, Cahill?” he asks me. His
voice is far more surprised than judgmental.

“No, no,” I tell him, “I’ve had sex. Just with one guy, but
you know… Plenty of times to get the feel of things. I guess we mostly just,
you know, did ‘the deed’. Instead of getting to know the rest of each’s other’s
bodies, I mean.”

“Got it,” Dean confirms, brushing a loose lock of hair away
from my forehead. “But Jesus. I don’t understand what kind of guy wouldn’t want
to get to know you. And your body.”

“You certainly don’t seem to be that kind of guy,” I grin.

“You bet your ass I’m not,” he laughs, as I pull my panties
back up. “I want to learn every inch of you, Jessa.”

“Funny,” I say softly, “I was just thinking the same thing
about you.”

“But you know it isn’t just your body I want, right?” he
goes on, taking my face in his rugged hands.

I look up at the sculpted face that’s graced my dreams
nearly every night since we met. The high cheekbones, strong jaw, sandy blonde
hair, and Roman nose. For the millionth time I ask myself how the hell I got so
lucky as to end up here, with him.

“I know,” I whisper, “But hey… At least now we’ll get to
spend all the time we want together, right?”

“That’s right
Teach
,” he grins, his thumb tracing the
curve of my cheekbone, “And I have some pretty good ideas about how we can fill
that time that have nothing to do with tutoring.”

He brings his mouth to mine, working open my jaw as I melt
against him. Our tongues tangle as he pins my hands over my head, holding my
wrists firmly as he lets me feel the weight of his cut body against my curvier
form. His hips hold me pinned against the fence, and I’m dizzy with wanting
more of him. My mind goes to the condom in my back pocket. Are we going to make
use of it right here, right now?

“Why don’t I walk you home?” Dean offers, pressing his
forehead to mine.

“Already?” I ask, placing my hands on his chest.